ᴀᴘʀɪʟ's ʜᴜsʙᴀɴᴅ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
infomodder) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2015-05-01 03:43 pm
infomodder) wrote in maskormenacelogs2015-05-01 03:43 pm
Entry tags:
- jaime reyes | blue beetle,
- † alistair krei | n/a,
- † chrollo lucilfer | n/a,
- † clark kent | superman,
- † dorian gray | n/a,
- † grey | n/a,
- † hank pym | giant-man,
- † hank schrader | n/a,
- † john watson | n/a,
- † kate bishop | hawkeye,
- † ken kaneki | one eyed king,
- † kristoff bjorgman | n/a,
- † matthew lin | abduxel,
- † the red plains rider | n/a,
- † will graham | wolf trap
[OPEN] you see, i am the wolf, and this dirty little piggy lives inside of me
WHO: Will Graham + YOU!
WHERE: All over
WHEN: Month of May (he will not be around the 15th-19th)
WHAT: Making friends. Losing friends. Getting experience with his shadow stag power. Aggressively playing pool. Fishing. Stuff and things, Coral.
WARNINGS: Standard Hannibal warnings apply (cannibalism and murder and sadness and season 2 spoilers). If anything else crops up, I will edit to add.
NOTE: Everything's been written up in prose, but if you'd prefer to do action, just reply with it and I'll match! And if you'd like a specific starter, shoot me a PM or something and I'll write it up in comments.
I. AROUND NONAH: Are we out of the woods? Are we in the clear yet?
He'd have gone to De Chima, had he not been there so recently for work, had he been sure he could keep himself from stopping by the old house. Worse, going into the old house, seeing if Mike Parker was there, perhaps checking in on his religiously conflicted roommate. Going to Virginia for leisure time is bound to end poorly, bound to have him finally giving up and checking in on this universe's version of Wolf Trap. Better to avoid all that inevitable mess by going somewhere else entirely.
So he opts for Nonah, and after going through the city itself, finds a nice patch of woods that doesn't seem too used. Seems more like the place where joggers go for morning and evening routines than anything popular, where parents might bring their children or couples might take to for a quiet, slow stroll. Once the noises fade to nothing but nature, he loses his shadow to its new, stag self, to get a better feel of how it works. They'll walk side-by-side as much as the stag decides to explore, bolting for a particularly playful squirrel, scraping his antlers on a nearby tree for reasons Will doesn't want to think about. Same with any rolling in mud. Probably just enjoying his freedom to be a strange, shadow stag; that's the story Will chooses to take on and believe as true. Every now and then, it might smack as more dog than deer, stumpy tail wagging, but Will doesn't pay that any mind, either. The thing's never far out of his sight—until something (or someone) truly interesting and not yet in Will's line of sight comes around, of course. Leave it to Will to not find this of too much concern and continue to take his time, walking fashion disaster that he is. Don't worry! That shadowy creature means no harm, and the guy following after who doesn't cast a shadow at all despite whatever sunlight is around has covered himself in a truly terrible plaid shirt and jeans that are two or three wears from being worn out. No threats here.
II. HEROPA: have you been herring a lot about the hook line and tinker?
Will doesn't work at the bait shop anymore, not technically. He is, however, still the owner, and that means he has to be involved. He's a little more involved than some of his employees might actually like, but at least whenever there's a minor issue plaguing the place, he can generally take care of it. If he can't, he knows who can. So every now and then, for anyone stopping by (or just looking in), they'll find a still plaid-clad Will Graham sporting a ridiculous hat that's clearly been worn by him for a while, however off and on. It fits his head, and the fishing hook stuck on the brim of it has been there so long it's created a dent. But Will isn't behind the counter or going through the shelves to fix them. Nah, he's the guy in the corner on a stepladder fixing some busted part of the ceiling or wall, or fiddling with wiring. He rather looks like the repairman.
If someone stops by to see him, specifically, here he is. If someone stops by with a question that the staff either can't answer or doesn't feel equipped to answer as well as Will can, he'll be pointed out as well. Yes, go ask the guy making an effort to center the WRIGGLE ROOM sign after it last fell about fishing seasons. That guy who's cleaning the front windows in the wake of the Flare and dragons alike will know far better than the person behind the counter why the hell the lures are different colors. Go pester him, he has the answers, he's the owner.
III. HEROPA 2 NAUTICAL BOOGALOO: We ain’t only fishin’
Will owes plenty of people fishing trips. Want to go fishing? Who the hell wouldn't? His preference is for standing around all day in waders, but if someone would rather go out, he'll get a boat. How accommodating.
IV. HEROPA 3 RETURN TO THE HOMELAND: Flowers and trees depress and frankly bore me
There is a house with a yard that's well kept but not much to speak of just yet. The dogwood tree in the center of it is in need of some nourishment and time without the world being in ruins to get back to its former glory, and the scattered beds of flowers weren't in any particular order. Until today, that is. Will's out with his sleeves rolled right over his elbows, bearded dog providing help by doing the best thing he can in this situation: lazing underneath some shade and taking a nap. He's got all the tools he needs, pots with plants waiting to be transferred over, dirty hands bare instead of covered with gloves. He's not dealing with anything too thorny or prickly, so there's really no need for that, is there?
Except for the fact that the soil he's using contains manure, and says so right on the bags waiting to be tossed out with the rest of the trash. Whatever, it's all as organic as organic gets, he'll just wash them more thoroughly than usual and everything will be fine.
V. MAURTIA FALLS LIBRARY: Take a look, it's in a book!
He isn't even certain if he can check out anything, considering where he lives and all, but he's been through the Heropa library more times than he can count. It's good to expand one's horizons, isn't it? Maurtia Falls could have something on their shelves Heropa doesn't, so while he's there and following the rule of minding his own damn business, he stops by just to see. Curiosity isn't always a bad thing, after all. Will pointedly avoids any sections that have to do with crime, true or fictional. Fiction is supposed to give him an escape, and hopefully nonfiction will teach him about something that isn't his usual. Why even bother looking at books that won't do either? It's always much better to bump into someone who has a stack of books that relate to dogs, fish, the history of railroads, and what appears to be the first in a series about magical cats that can travel through space and have kept their secret from humans for all of eternity, isn't it? Because that's what Will's going for. Magical alien cats.
VI. BARS, BARS EVERYWHERE: He drinks a whiskey drink, he drinks a vodka drink
Will keeps a rotation of bars in his head, places with a little more shade than usual. No loud and booming music, no crowd of youths looking to get their groove on. Will's more comfortable in the quiet sorts where the jukebox plays "oldies" and no one has any complaints about it. These are the nights were he slaps his watch over that tattoo to keep himself as much of a nobody as, well, everybody else in the dim, sometimes smoky lighting. His pool game isn't anything to write home about, but he's steadily getting better, with the goal to one day wipe the floor with Hank Schrader. And because some of these bars are the places that don't ask questions, or have family members of the owners (or their friends) coming through just a year or so shy of the legal drinking age, Will keeps his job and this aspect of his life completely separate unless there is a real need for someone to step in. He's not a complete hog at the pool tables, though, and some affable competition is bound to only help improve his game. Loser buys the drinks—what a great deal.
WHERE: All over
WHEN: Month of May (he will not be around the 15th-19th)
WHAT: Making friends. Losing friends. Getting experience with his shadow stag power. Aggressively playing pool. Fishing. Stuff and things, Coral.
WARNINGS: Standard Hannibal warnings apply (cannibalism and murder and sadness and season 2 spoilers). If anything else crops up, I will edit to add.
NOTE: Everything's been written up in prose, but if you'd prefer to do action, just reply with it and I'll match! And if you'd like a specific starter, shoot me a PM or something and I'll write it up in comments.
I. AROUND NONAH: Are we out of the woods? Are we in the clear yet?
He'd have gone to De Chima, had he not been there so recently for work, had he been sure he could keep himself from stopping by the old house. Worse, going into the old house, seeing if Mike Parker was there, perhaps checking in on his religiously conflicted roommate. Going to Virginia for leisure time is bound to end poorly, bound to have him finally giving up and checking in on this universe's version of Wolf Trap. Better to avoid all that inevitable mess by going somewhere else entirely.
So he opts for Nonah, and after going through the city itself, finds a nice patch of woods that doesn't seem too used. Seems more like the place where joggers go for morning and evening routines than anything popular, where parents might bring their children or couples might take to for a quiet, slow stroll. Once the noises fade to nothing but nature, he loses his shadow to its new, stag self, to get a better feel of how it works. They'll walk side-by-side as much as the stag decides to explore, bolting for a particularly playful squirrel, scraping his antlers on a nearby tree for reasons Will doesn't want to think about. Same with any rolling in mud. Probably just enjoying his freedom to be a strange, shadow stag; that's the story Will chooses to take on and believe as true. Every now and then, it might smack as more dog than deer, stumpy tail wagging, but Will doesn't pay that any mind, either. The thing's never far out of his sight—until something (or someone) truly interesting and not yet in Will's line of sight comes around, of course. Leave it to Will to not find this of too much concern and continue to take his time, walking fashion disaster that he is. Don't worry! That shadowy creature means no harm, and the guy following after who doesn't cast a shadow at all despite whatever sunlight is around has covered himself in a truly terrible plaid shirt and jeans that are two or three wears from being worn out. No threats here.
II. HEROPA: have you been herring a lot about the hook line and tinker?
Will doesn't work at the bait shop anymore, not technically. He is, however, still the owner, and that means he has to be involved. He's a little more involved than some of his employees might actually like, but at least whenever there's a minor issue plaguing the place, he can generally take care of it. If he can't, he knows who can. So every now and then, for anyone stopping by (or just looking in), they'll find a still plaid-clad Will Graham sporting a ridiculous hat that's clearly been worn by him for a while, however off and on. It fits his head, and the fishing hook stuck on the brim of it has been there so long it's created a dent. But Will isn't behind the counter or going through the shelves to fix them. Nah, he's the guy in the corner on a stepladder fixing some busted part of the ceiling or wall, or fiddling with wiring. He rather looks like the repairman.
If someone stops by to see him, specifically, here he is. If someone stops by with a question that the staff either can't answer or doesn't feel equipped to answer as well as Will can, he'll be pointed out as well. Yes, go ask the guy making an effort to center the WRIGGLE ROOM sign after it last fell about fishing seasons. That guy who's cleaning the front windows in the wake of the Flare and dragons alike will know far better than the person behind the counter why the hell the lures are different colors. Go pester him, he has the answers, he's the owner.
III. HEROPA 2 NAUTICAL BOOGALOO: We ain’t only fishin’
Will owes plenty of people fishing trips. Want to go fishing? Who the hell wouldn't? His preference is for standing around all day in waders, but if someone would rather go out, he'll get a boat. How accommodating.
IV. HEROPA 3 RETURN TO THE HOMELAND: Flowers and trees depress and frankly bore me
There is a house with a yard that's well kept but not much to speak of just yet. The dogwood tree in the center of it is in need of some nourishment and time without the world being in ruins to get back to its former glory, and the scattered beds of flowers weren't in any particular order. Until today, that is. Will's out with his sleeves rolled right over his elbows, bearded dog providing help by doing the best thing he can in this situation: lazing underneath some shade and taking a nap. He's got all the tools he needs, pots with plants waiting to be transferred over, dirty hands bare instead of covered with gloves. He's not dealing with anything too thorny or prickly, so there's really no need for that, is there?
Except for the fact that the soil he's using contains manure, and says so right on the bags waiting to be tossed out with the rest of the trash. Whatever, it's all as organic as organic gets, he'll just wash them more thoroughly than usual and everything will be fine.
V. MAURTIA FALLS LIBRARY: Take a look, it's in a book!
He isn't even certain if he can check out anything, considering where he lives and all, but he's been through the Heropa library more times than he can count. It's good to expand one's horizons, isn't it? Maurtia Falls could have something on their shelves Heropa doesn't, so while he's there and following the rule of minding his own damn business, he stops by just to see. Curiosity isn't always a bad thing, after all. Will pointedly avoids any sections that have to do with crime, true or fictional. Fiction is supposed to give him an escape, and hopefully nonfiction will teach him about something that isn't his usual. Why even bother looking at books that won't do either? It's always much better to bump into someone who has a stack of books that relate to dogs, fish, the history of railroads, and what appears to be the first in a series about magical cats that can travel through space and have kept their secret from humans for all of eternity, isn't it? Because that's what Will's going for. Magical alien cats.
VI. BARS, BARS EVERYWHERE: He drinks a whiskey drink, he drinks a vodka drink
Will keeps a rotation of bars in his head, places with a little more shade than usual. No loud and booming music, no crowd of youths looking to get their groove on. Will's more comfortable in the quiet sorts where the jukebox plays "oldies" and no one has any complaints about it. These are the nights were he slaps his watch over that tattoo to keep himself as much of a nobody as, well, everybody else in the dim, sometimes smoky lighting. His pool game isn't anything to write home about, but he's steadily getting better, with the goal to one day wipe the floor with Hank Schrader. And because some of these bars are the places that don't ask questions, or have family members of the owners (or their friends) coming through just a year or so shy of the legal drinking age, Will keeps his job and this aspect of his life completely separate unless there is a real need for someone to step in. He's not a complete hog at the pool tables, though, and some affable competition is bound to only help improve his game. Loser buys the drinks—what a great deal.
no subject
He can't deny that he came into Hank's swamp and dropped that out of the blue on him, though, so reacting with insult isn't exactly the worst that could happen.]
Don't know about any video. [So no to that trap theory.] I heard you tried to have Pinkman arrested for something he didn't do. When he was released, you broke into his home and attacked him.
[While this should bother Will on a core level of someone who works in law enforcement, he doesn't let off anything to show unease...but he doesn't let off anything to show too much interest. Will isn't passing judgment, and he's not openly eager to hear details of abusing one's power as if that's his thing. He shifts one foot out enough to give him something of a relaxed appearance before taking his beer bottle up again so it doesn't start leaving oddly-patterned wetness on his pants. He's careful to leave out the part about stalking Pinkman, too. That word, what it truly means, has been so warped that he feels it's starting to lose its power. Hank can either reveal that he actually took part in stalking or reveal that it was exaggeration without Will ever bringing it up.]
no subject
Is that how Pinkman's telling it? Skipped a few key chapters there.
[ The tone he takes when saying the name makes it clear just how highly he values Jesse's opinion, spat like a four letter word with a sneer reserved for very few. He isn't looking at Will when he says it, he's looking right through.
But it doesn't last long before he looks down, and something falls short in how he sits, as being forced to recollect that piss poor story he had hinted at in the text doesn't bring any pride at all. Will was a cop, and so that gives him more understanding in regards to this, but that doesn't make him trustworthy. Still, he'd rather he heard the truth from Hank instead of the fucking rumor mill, if he's heard it anyway. Or...at least some skewed version of it. What does it matter here? It can't be an Internal Affairs thing, not with it having taken place before, and Will looked like someone pissed in his beer bottle at the suggestion of it being a real trap. Hank catches that, even as he has to keep a check on his own temper.
So what the hell is it, then? ]
I told you it was a long story. Jesus... Wouldn't even know where to start, all right. But I didn't break in, the door was open—
[ Not helping. Those details don't fucking matter and he knows it. But whether or not Will understood what he was asking when he broached this, this particular topic gets Hank's hackles raised and his breath short, even if it's probably apparent he's trying not to make that obvious. ]
Look, I know that guy's a fucking saint around here, but that's not how it was in Albuquerque. I had my reasons for looking into him, and when I got too close he didn't like it. I had him cornered at a junkyard when he had someone call me up, telling me my wife was in a car accident and was bein' flown to the hospital.
[ It's impossible not to remember it, even though it was a blur at the time. He'd left the scene without another thought, letting Pinkman do God knows what to that RV while Hank had been about to collapse in a panic attack in a hospital hallway. His voice strains as he's caught between reliving fury and that memory of fear. ]
I got to the hospital and of course she wasn't there. By the time I realized what the hell was happening and got back to the scene, he'd sent the evidence off to fuckin' Narnia. I wasn't exactly...seeing straight after that, but I knew where he lived. ...Hitting him...hadn't been the plan.
[ And what happened after? That had been the real question, and should be a lot easier to answer, but it isn't. Words are hard look at how he tries. ]
no subject
There is no drinking at the rest, however. There's only Will quietly extending his profiles on certain people while he looks at Hank's knees instead of his face, lips a thin line, torn between disgust and horror at the idea of someone going that far. Will is no stranger to the ones he cares about being used against him (and he against his), that much is obvious, but there's a very specific and twisted bent to this that he finds extremely unpalatable. It's wretched.
It's sickening.]
Even the best laid plans are subject to change. [Which might sound dangerously close to Will thinking Jesse Pinkman deserved the brutal fist of the law raining terror down on him, but when it's just the two of them in a closed environment and off the record, Will can't be too bothered by it.] It's...difficult to be stuck here in the first place. Having certain people from back home is just the cherry on top.
[Nah, Will's not bitter at all. Not him, no way. He's not comfortable seeking some solidarity at being stuck in a mess of a world with people he'd rather punch in the face, no way. Not him. He would nevah.]
no subject
But he is going to compartmentalize as much as he can, as needing to relay his side of things without making it seem like he's pleading takes just about all of Hank's attention. Will's words seem to be exactly what he needs to hear, though, as color returns to his knuckles and he loosens his grip on the beer. ]
Pinkman's a lying sack of shit with most things, but I shouldn't have lost it like that. That's not me or the job. I was the one to call it in and he, uh, was hospitalized, and I thought I'd lose my badge. I mean... I was sure of it, you know? But they gave me two week's suspension, unpaid. You believe it?
[ It sucked, but showed how much his superiors wanted to back him up. At least it should... Remembering the rest of the day, that's not exactly how Marie sees it anymore, since that had been the reason he hadn't had his gun with him. ]
Turned into a lot longer than that, though. Not sure if having my gun would've even made much of a difference, but let's just say that wasn't the worst part of the day. Got jumped by these psycho brothers with a blood vendetta before I even got home, and I, uh... Well I wasn't really able to return to work after that.
[ Really no need to weh weh about being unable to walk, he'd like to forever forget about it. ]
Felt like every sign was telling me I was done as a cop.
no subject
When it rains it pours. [Trite it may be, Will's at a loss of what else to say. This isn't the time to start playing contrast and compare, and even though the phrase is quite overused, his tone is heavier to make up for it.] Is that what happened just before you got. Here? And they put you in dispatch?
[Grave the topic conversation may be, it's past five and therefore definitely drinking time. Besides, if Hank can catch sight of someone genuinely enjoying his brew, perhaps that'll be a good balance. A mood booster as he discusses the exact opposite of uplifting.]
no subject
Not right before... Was in my hotwheels when I was ported in, though, yeah. Still needing help to shit and travel to more ace physical therapy. They got me a nurse and stuck me in dispatch, figured it'd appease me.
[ Is it any wonder he was a little grumpy his first week? Obviously he's never going to insult dispatch, but that wasn't the point. ]
Then Pinkman showed up at the precinct and healed me. Hallelujah.
[ Said in the way that Pinkman might as well have showed up and finished him off with an AK-47. Isn't he a nice guy? So grateful? But anyone looking at their history, really looking at their history, might be able to see what Hank actually saw in such saintly (planned, deliberate) deliverance. Or they might just see a paranoid, obsessed cop. ]
no subject
Showed up and healed you. [He keeps to his own voice here, doesn't mirror Hank's. It's less than enthused without being the same tone Hank took, grumbled and laced with skepticism as Will works to put things together. Read between the lines.] You didn't ask him to? Did you want him to?
[Paranoid and obsessed cops are out there, Will knows that well. But he also knows the difference between true helpfulness and manipulation. He's seeing the latter. Will's world operates on a scale of this for that with many people he deals with, regardless of whether or not that they say as much. It's actually worse, in Will's mind, when they don't, or when they don't each other well enough to understand that it's there even if it remains forever unspoken. Because then the sense of being indebted turns more worrisome. The bigger the this, the more troubling the that later called on could be, and healing someone in such a state is a pretty damn large this.
Hank doesn't seem like the sort of guy to go too low when it comes to returning favors. He also doesn't seem like the sort of guy who wouldn't return one if he felt it was absolutely necessary. Backing him into a corner could be easier if one is especially brutish.
Will finds it tasteless.]
no subject
[ But didn't Hank want him to? Wouldn't any man with an ounce of sanity desperately hope for an easy fix like that? After the hell he'd gone through in recovery, with no end in sight, no matter what bullshit the physical therapists liked to squat out.
Yeah, of course he had wanted it. Even when offered by Pinkman's hand, the tiniest part had been desperate enough to consider for a flash that healing touch. But that was all it was, and Pinkman was aware of that. While so much about the kid is uncertain recently, on that much, Hank knows there was no misunderstanding. He had absolutely and artfully indebted Hank's livelihood to him while simultaneously presenting to the precinct and public that Jesse Pinkman was his savior. He'd already had his hands tied on speaking out against Pinkman, but with that chess move, he'd slapped the duct tape over Hank's mouth and rolled him off the pier. When staring one another down before and after, he had understood. They understood one another; that Hank was trapped the moment he was allowed to walk. Nobody but Hank had seen the way Pinkman's smile was just a touched-up sneer.
Rolling back his shoulders, the man seems to physically restrain himself from saying more, jaw flexing as if visibly warding away the tension, and his head jerks roughly to the side before he pins Will with a new gaze. One of careful appraisal, as if he can just squint his way through to the real answers. What is the connection here? He's trying to work it out, to go backwards over everything they've talked about prior to this moment. ]
But what's this really about? What's it got to do with you? You made it sound like you had your own shit following you around.
no subject
Hank's response has Will's eyes moving off him and up, physically digesting this new information. He had assumed as much, but being told outright is helpful. He gets it, as much as he can, which he thinks is as on point as anyone can be who doesn't know Hank like the back of their hand. Who wouldn't want a miracle cure? But when that cure is attached to someone they don't want to feel indebted to, it changes things. Jesus Christ had gone throughout the days of the bible healing others without leaving a sense of debt behind—one could rest assured that Jesus taking away blindness didn't mean he would return in a few months and ask for a favor. Food, money, clothes, hiding a body...Will would do the latter on his own for a group of people. Not because they owned him, controlled the way he hunted, or demanded his skills. But because Will would make the choice to aid them in such a way on his own terms.
Hank doesn't seem like he wanted his health at the cost of being in debt to Pinkman, and his question pokes a bit of something like guilt at the very back of Will's mind. Or, more accurately, the feeling that he should experience a bit of guilt about all this.
(He does not.)]
I do, yeah. [A lick of his lips as he moves his eyes back down to the amazing beer in his lap, legs spreading a bit wider. Wow. So contrite.] Seems easier to forget about my shit if I can...focus on somebody else's.
[How selfless. But maybe he can help out with this Hank and Jesse drama, now that he knows, at least?]